Secret
by Necia Aphrodite
Summary: Everyone has a secret, but can they keep it? Two lovers, cloaked in mystery, spend nights together never knowing the other's identity. See if you can guess who they are.


**Secret**

-

The club is dim and crowded, but even through the throng he has a great view of her. Her full, Cupid's bow lips are parted, but he can't see any other feature of her face, as it's blurred. The rest of her body is generously proportioned and her curves apparent. Her hair is drawn back at the back of her neck, and he's making his way over to her steadily. She looks at him, he knows, but he doesn't know how he knows since he can't see them. It's no time before his hands are on her waist and his mouth on hers, and she's kissing him back. His erection presses against her thigh, and she's sighing against him as his lips move down her neck.

Then they're back at his flat, and she's letting down her hair as she steps back from him to give him a better look at her. She slowly takes off all of her clothes, and he can't get enough of looking at her, and he knows she's where he belongs, so he returns the action and kisses her with more fervor than before. His hands are all over her, and they're falling to the bed, and soon it's just a tangle of sheets that separate them. Then he's inside her and he's pushing himself to the limit while she grabs the sheets in her fists as perspiration shimmers over her skin and mingles with his. It's all a game of power, a delicious game full of heavy breathing, melded flesh and raw emotions tearing at them. It's a dance, one of blissful torture that seems to be neverending in wave after wave of pleasure and tension.

They end tangled together and he smooths the hair back from her face. Her skin is flushed and he knows he can never get tired of her. How is it, only ten minutes earlier, she was leaning against the wall of the club while he made his way over to her? How is it her clothes are in a pile next to his on his bedroom floor, that his finger is tracing patterns over her back while she drifts to sleep, her lips curved in a small smile. He knows that smile... he just can't place it. And as he slowly drifts off, her features become apparent, sharper and more clear...

She's at the club again, her eyes searching the crowd for him. Her heart is pounding in time with the music, but she's not really listening, she's thinking about the way his body felt against hers, her hands pressing into his as she felt her world shattering around herself in a burst of light and fire and flame by flame she was taken over by her emotions. Even in their wildest moments, he holds her with a certain gentleness, as if he's afraid she might break. Oh, she's far from breaking, and she feels the lust for him return when she sees his tall frame making its way to her. Without another word, she pulls him into a hallway that leads out to the alley in the back of the club, and lets him push her against the wall before his mouth ravages hers. Her hands slid up beneath his sweater, and he grips her waist.

_Love._

There's the word that scares the wits out of her when she's with him. It makes her zone out for a moment - she's doing the motions but she's not into it - and then it passes and she continues. All that is between them is lust, nothing more. Fiery, unadulterated passion that can't be quenched by a single night together. She's the temptress and he's conquered her, and she hasn't even seen his eyes yet. He is a secret waiting to be revealed. They hardly talk, even after the sex, and yet she keeps coming back to him and he to her, as if a magnetic force drives them. Their sex is better than any either has ever had, and she takes away his nightmares. From the moment he watched her from across the club, he hasn't had another nightmare.

He knows every curve, every dip, every freckle on her body (though she doesn't have that many), every way her hair falls over her eyes when she's with him. She knows this, and she loves it. Loves every minute of watching him watch her, watching him watch them, loves every minute of teasing him, loves being in this endless cycle of lust, loves the way he kisses her and presses her against the wall harder.

She loves him.

He opens his eyes to look at hers, and is actually surprised when he meets her gaze. She's usually gone by morning, and it's past midday now, but that doesn't matter, for the fact is that he can see her eyes and whose they are.

He smiles.

He knew it all along.

"I love you," she whispers.

"You think too much." He answers, and with a kiss it begins again.


End file.
